


I'm happier without a Head

by TheAlwaysUsedTeaBag



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Body Horror, Poetic Short Story, Poetry, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 11:46:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13099434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAlwaysUsedTeaBag/pseuds/TheAlwaysUsedTeaBag
Summary: I'm happier without a HeadMy head worries too muchMy head thinks too muchI'm happier without a head





	I'm happier without a Head

The silence is too much.   
It screams so loudly at me, deafening me.   
I spurt nonsense, a waterfall of gibberish leaves my mouth and drops and crashes on the floor before my feet, encircling me.   
Nothing I say,   
not a word I speak holds meaning.   
Hollow husks,   
beautiful and intricate as they appear to shine,   
they mean nothing.   
I claim they have lost their meaning,   
I know they have never had one.  
I put my head aside.   
I stop thinking,   
I stop worrying, and   
for a moment,   
a split second of a moment,   
I feel at peace.   
I feel blissfully unaware of everything.   
Then, my head attaches itself to my neck,   
my hair slithers around my throat like a rope hanging me.   
My breath is caught in my throat and I writhe under the pressure my head puts on my neck.   
It's heavy, too heavy.   
I can't breathe. I claw at my head,   
try to rip it off my neck, rip the hair away from around my throat   
but it's tightening and my head won't come off.   
Thoughts and pictures rush through my head before my eyes and no matter how much I claw at them my eyes won't stop showing me these pictures, my ears won't stop whispering to me these thoughts.   
My eyes are bleeding, my ears are bleeding, yet they won't stop.  
Finally, I manage to pull my heavy head off of my neck   
and I rip the hair away from my throat.   
I throw my head across the room,   
it hits the wall and a sickening crack can be heard.   
There is a crack on my forehead.   
I cower away from it, not knowing why I do it, but somehow knowing it's bad for me.   
It's bad for me.   
It's bad for me.   
I rock back and forth.   
It's bad for me. I know it's bad for me.  
I know I will not like it.  
And I know that, at some point, I will have to put it back on.  
Because I know.  
I know I won't be tolerated without a head.


End file.
